Charlie
by TheTinyWriter
Summary: Sherlock is in need of a new Flatmate and John knows exactly the person for the job. Chaos and hilarity ensues as Sherlock Holmes and his new flatmate, Charlie Abernale, learn to live with each other while getting on each others nerves.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This story is rated M for some foul language and some sexual scenes later in the story. Enjoy!**

Sherlock needed a new flatmate.

It had barely been two months since John had moved in with Mary and already Sherlock had managed to completely destroy the apartment. Books were stacked in haphazard and teetering piles in practically every corner of the the room. Papers were strewn across tables and the floor, a forest of them tacked to the wall above the fireplace. Scorch marks poked their heads out from under books and papers, one clinging to the ceiling and making itself known by the heavy charred smell. John didn't dare look in the kitchen.

Then there was also the fact that Sherlock now had to pay for the entire flat instead of half and he was falling far behind. Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to allow him time to catch up or find a new flatmate to share the expense. So far, none had been found and Sherlock, the stubborn and prideful bastard, refused to ask anyone for help. And asking for help from Mycroft? Out of the question.

As he stood in the doorway of the absolutely disastrous flat, John knew he had to find someone and fast. But finding someone who would be able to deal with Sherlocks rather...frustrating personality, was proving to be a difficult task. So far, every potential flatmate that John had brought in, Sherlock had eithar scared off, offended or turned down before they even stepped through the door.

"Sherlock," John called out.

The consulting detective's head popped out of the kitchen, followed by the rest of him, a rag in his hands stained with various unknown substances. "Ah! John! Hello-" Sherlock stopped short, "Did you bring another one?"

"No, Sherlock, I didn't," John said, "Do you know why?"

"I always know-"

"Shut up, Sherlock," John said, a slight hint of irritation in his voice.

"John?"

"Almost the entire London population has passed through that door, willing to try and take you on as a flatmate," John said, "And every single one has run away terrified or been sent away by you."

"And the problem…?"

"The problem is, _Sherlock, _there is no one left. I can think of no one else who is in desperate enough need for a place to deal with you."

Sherlock tilted his head.

"Did you ask Lestrade?"

John threw his hands up in the air, "I've asked everyone! Lestrade, Molly, Mary, Anderson, Donnovan, I even asked Mycroft!"

Sherlock's expression darkened at the mention of his brother's name and took on a look of annoyance. John noticed shift in expression and jabbed a finger in Sherlock's direction, "Don't you dare pout on me, Sherlock, Mycroft was last resort."

With a snort, Sherlock headed back into the kitchen, John following close behind. The kitchen was a worse mess than the living room, and there was a faint trace of some indistinguishable smell. "I'm serious, Sherlock, there is no one left," John continued.

"Then why don't you move back in with me?" Sherlock said, picking up a vial and observing it's contents.

John sighed and replied, "You know very well I can't. I'm married now and I have a child on the way, it wouldn't be fair to Mary or the baby."

Sherlock was silent.

Shaking his head, John left the flat and started down the stairs. As he reached the front door his phone rang his pocket. John picked it up and answered glumly, "Hullo?" His eyes lit up when he recognized the voice at the other end.

"Sorry, just dealing with something right now," John replied to the person on the other end.

John walked out the door and towards the cab where Mary stood waiting for him. The person on the end spoke and John's face broke into a grin. Mary tilted her head in question and John held up a finger telling her to hold on a moment.

"You're moving to London?" John asked.

The caller replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that-"

The caller spoke again.

"A place to live…? Well…" John looked up 221B Baker Street and grinned, "I have the perfect place for you."

John and the caller exchanged a few words and then goodbyes and John hung up. He turned to Mary with a wide grin on his face.

"Who was that?" Mary questioned.

"Let's just say that I think i've found the perfect flatmate for Sherlock, "John said confidently.

Mary raised an eyebrow and replied, "and who would that be?"

John chuckled.

"Charlie."

* * *

><p>John stood in the London International Airport, crowds of people passing to and fro. Some rushed past in order to catch their flight on time, others strolled by lazily, most likely on vacation. John just stood there waiting.<p>

After John decided that Charlie would be a perfect replacement as Sherlock's flatmate, he called her back. John explained the situation. Charlie would be sharing the flat with the man that John had been previous flatmate's with and would be paying half rent. She accepted almost immediately. Before John hung up, he explained that the man she was going into a flatshare with was a little difficult to live with to which Charlie replied, "John, I've fought in the war, how bad can he be compared to that?"

John chuckled and told Charlie that he would meet her at the airport, which is how he managed to find himself standing across from one of the gates, being bumped and stared at by passerby's, waiting for Charlie's flight to arrive. He didn't have to wait very long, he soon saw the plane pull up and attach to the gate. Soon, streams of people came pouring out. Men, women, and children and occasionally a carrier with a small dog inside.

Suddenly, John saw a shock of long white blond hair barely peeking out from behind a tall man. The man stepped to the side and John saw Charlie. She was a small thin woman with a strong yet still fair face. Heavy blond eyebrows hung over to dark brown eyes darted back and forth, trying to locate John. Her small hand clasped the handles of a large army duffel bag that was almost bigger than her body.

"Charlie!" John called out, waving his hand.

Charlie's head turned as she heard her name being called. Her eyes fell on John and her face broke out into a grin. "John!" she said happily. She trotted over to John and dropped her bag at their feet, throwing her arms around her long time friend.

"Holy cow, how're you doing, John?" Charlie said, leaning back and taking in John's face. John noticed that most of Charlie's american accent had returned since he had last seen her in Afghanistan.

"Good, married and have a baby on the way," John replied with a proud grin.

"Shut up, seriously?" Charlie said, her smile growing causing her dimples to deepen and the corners of her eyes crinkle, "Congratulations!"

Charlie released John and picked up her back. The two talked as they walked through the airport to the luggage pick up where they waited for Charlie's bags to come around on the belt. When the two bags were retrieved they walked out of the airport and out on to the sidewalk were John hailed a cab. They loaded Charlie's things into the small trunk and climbed in.

"So," Charlie began, "Tell me about Sherlock."

"All I can say is that you will never be bored," John stated.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "He can't be that bad," Charlie said looking at John.

Shrugging, John pulled out his cellphone and said, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

John texted Sherlock, knowing that the consulting detective was more likely to respond through text than bother to answer a phone call.

**Sherlock. -JW**

**What is is, John? I'm busy. -SH**

John rolled his eyes.

**I found you a new flatmate. -JW**

**Really? That's good news. -SH**

**Name is Charlie. Was an old buddy of mine from when I was in the war. -JW**

**Lovely. -SH**

**We're on our way to 221B right now. -JW**

John immediately sent another message following the first.

**Behave and be nice, alright? -JW**

There was a silence from Sherlock and John wondered if maybe the message hadn't sent...or Sherlock was just being his usual irritating self and had lost interest and had moved on to the next thing. John's phone beeped.

**No promises. -SH**

John rolled his eyes and shoved his phone into his pocket.

* * *

><p>Sherlock sat on the couch, his fingers steepled under his chin as his eyes flitted across the case file Lestrade had given him when John came thumping up the stairs.<p>

"Good evening, John," Sherlock said without looking up from what he was reading.

"Charlie will be right up," John said, "And I'm serious Sherlock, _behave_, this is your last chance. If this doesn't work I can't help you anymore, you'll have to go to Mycroft."

Sherlock's head snapped up at his brothers name and his face filled with irritation. He closed the file and stood, waiting for his new flatmate to come tromping up the stairs.

"John? Which door?" A voice called.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. The voice, whom Sherlock assumed belonged to Charlie, sounded quite american and...female?

"Right up the stairs," John called out the door, "It's the one with the door wide open."

The footsteps grew louder and to Sherlock's surprise, though he would never admit he was caught off guard, he found himself staring at a small woman with a mop of shocking blond hair that ended just past her hips. Deep brown eyes wearing a baggy shirt and close fitting jeans.

"You're a woman," Sherlock stated.

"And you're observant," Charlie replied sarcastically.

Sherlock blinked and looked at John then back at Charlie. He saw no scars, no dark look that his behind the eyes. She didn't carry herself like a soldier, like John did. If John hadn't told him that he and Charlie had been in the army together, he never would have thought that she had even fought. This threw Sherlock off, he had always been able to trust his eyes and deductions, but now…

"I think you're friend is broken…" Charlie said to John.

"Sherlock?" John said.

Sherlock blinked and shook his head, falling back into his typical composure. He turned and strode over to the leather chair and sat down, draping one long leg over the other. "Come, sit Miss…"

"Abernale," Charlie offered.

"Miss Abernale," Sherlock said with a nod, "I have a few simple questions for you."

"Sherlock…" John said in a warning tone.

Charlie dropped her bag to the floor and strode over, sitting in the armchair across from Sherlock. The consulting detective stared at Charlie, his eyes flicking up and down her body, taking in every detail that might hint at who she was.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock questioned suddenly, his fingers tented under his chin and his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.

"No bother," Charlie replied.

"At 2AM?"

"Rather soothing."

"Good," Sherlock said. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Now, I'm assuming John has told you about me?" Sherlock said.

"Yes, he told me that you are utterly brilliant and have the unique ability of being able to deduce a person's life story from their watch and the socks they wore that day…"

John could practically see Sherlock's ego inflate in front of his eyes.

"...he also told me that you can be quite the irritating bastard who is unbelievably lazy and even though you have the brain of a supercomputer you have the mentality and patience of a two-year-old," Charlie said with a pleasant grin and a twinkle in her eye. John couldn't help but chuckle quietly as he saw the confident smirk slowly slide away and fall off his face. Sherlock looked at John with an irritated pout.

"What?" John said, biting back a giggle, "I had to tell her what she was getting herself into."

"I see," Sherlock said, turning his back to Charlie who sat across from him with a faint smile on her face. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to wipe the smile off her face. The corners of Sherlock's mouth quirked up into a smile.

"You seem to be a very interesting potential flatmate, Miss Abernale," Sherlock began, rising from the chair and circling around Charlie, looking quite predatory. Charlie remained still, her arms across her chest and her eyes following the consulting detectives movement. "However," Sherlock continued, "While you have heard of me, I know nothing of you…"

"Fire away," she said.

John stood back by the doorway, watching with amused eyes. He knew that considering Charlie as a flatmate for Sherlock would potentially lead to drastic consequences, but she was the only one that John could think of who could handle Sherlock. Charlie was hard headed and patient and as Sherlock would soon find out, smarter than she appeared.

"You're american, as heavily indicated by your heavy accent, but an idiot with ears could observe that. The plane ride over was quite noisy and long with many loud children and annoying residents. You weren't bothered by it however, for you grew up in a large family, thus suggesting you were more easily able to ignore the annoyances around you by putting in earbuds and blocking out the noise with some loud sound, probably music, as the earbuds are hanging out of your pocket with small traces of ear wax residue on them. I suggest cleaning out your ears. You tried to get some sleep on the plane but considering that bags under your eyes, you received none. From what I've observed from John, it was most likely due to nightmares of the war. Which brings me to another thing, you have PTSD; however, you have quite a handle on it. I must admit, if John had not informed me that you had been in the war with him, I would not have guessed," Sherlock said in the fast paced tone he acquired when voicing his deductions, "From the lack of scars you more than likely worked at a medical base, taking in emergency patients and healing them, that's where you met and became acquainted with John."

Sherlock stood there triumphantly, expecting at any second to be bombarded with an amazed, 'wow, how did you do that?'

Charlie merely smirked.

"Wrong," Charlie said in a singsong voice.

Sherlock's face fell.

Removing the earbuds from her pocket, Charlie stepped towards Sherlock. "I am american, you got that part right, obviously. The plane ride was actually quite pleasant...I found the earbuds on the floor of the bathroom," Charlie said, draping the earbuds over Sherlock's shoulder, "I knew from what John told me that you notice the tiny things so I figured I'd try to throw you off the scent. You were also wrong when you said I had a large family. I grew up with a brother who died when I was two and parents who taught me that women were only meant to bear children and say nothing else. So I grew up learning to be quiet and patient. You weren't far off from the PSTD, I still flinch at loud noises and have the occasional nightmare, however…"

Charlie stepped forward so that there was barely a foot of space.

"I wasn't positioned at some medical base," Charlie continued " I was a special ops officer, I met John when I miscalculated and hit a landmine, he came in with his team and saved my life."

"But you have no scars…" Sherlock snapped, trying to regain some of the control he had lost.

"Oh, they're there," Charlie replied.

"Show me," Sherlock commanded, eyes darting across Charlie's t-shirt as if the scars would miraculously show themselves through the material.

Charlie snorted. "Not a chance," she said, stepping back and picking up her duffle bag. She turned to John, "Which room will be mine?"

"First on the left," John replied, trying to hide his grin.

"Lovely," Charlie said. She headed towards the room, calling over her shoulder, "We'll discuss more about the shared payment when I finish unpacking."

Sherlock looked at John with the most unsure expression that he had ever seen on the man before. John walked up to the man and patted him on the back, saying, "Good luck."

He then left, leaving Sherlock standing in the living room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: thanks for the positive feedback already! It really gave me an extra boost of motivation to keep the story going. As for a posting schedule...There won't be one for quite awhile as my life is kinda chaotic with school and a new job. Sometimes I might post something new the next day or maybe not for two weeks. Thanks for the support and enjoy chapter two! **

Charlie finished unpacking half an hour later and flopped back on to her new bed. She had changed out of the frumpy t-shirt that she had worn on the plane and pulled on something warmer to keep out the chill of the fall british air. Her long blond locks splayed out on the bed and she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, rubbing away the fatigue and jet lag from the long trip.

Everything had happened so fast that Charlie actually found herself a little dizzy.

After she had returned from the war, her parents refused to speak to her so she went to live with her wealthy grandfather in the country for a couple years until she could get back on her feet. Charlie decided, with lots of encouragement from her grandfather, to try going back to school. She didn't have very much money to pay for classes and she refused to let her grandfather help, insisting that this was something she had to do on her own, she attended the local community college. A few years passed and Charlie's grandfather passed away unexpectedly. Suddenly, her parents had a new found interest in her. It turned out that the only reason they suddenly cared for her was because her grandfather had left his entire fortune to her in his will. When Charlie caught on to this she refused to even let them touch the account. This infuriated her parents and they tried everything they could to get a hold of the money.

Charlie ran.

Charlie took her deceased grandfather's wealth and she ran. She decided that she had disappeared before and could do it again. London was the first place she thought of. John was there and he could certainly help her. Before she knew it, she was in London and standing face to face with a new flatmate.

Rolling up into a sitting position, Charlie removed her hands from her eyes. Her stomach grumbled and she realized just how hungry she was after idiotically thinking it was an okay idea to skip breakfast before the plane ride. Sighing, Charlie heaved herself to her feet and walked out of her room and down the hall to the kitchen. Through the door, Charlie could see Sherlock sitting on the couch. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. One hand rested near his mouth, fingers pressing lightly against his lips in thought, and the other hand he held the earbuds Charlie had found between his thumb and forefinger. Sherlock stared at them intensly, almost commanding them to tell him their secrets.

"Have they enlightened you of abything yet?" Charlie called from the kitchen.

Sherlock replied with a grunt.

Charlie chuckled and turned to the fridge.

She thought John had said that living with Sherlock was going to be difficult. So far, the man had been rather calm and docile, the only problems she saw was the absolute mess that took over the flat. Maybe John had been over reacting.

Charlie opened the fridge and let out a small squeak before shutting it again. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she closed her eyes and took a steadying breath.

"Sherlock?" Charlie called once she regained her composure.

"Hm?" came the response from the living room.

"Why is there a….a frozen head in the fridge?" Charlie questioned.

"Don't touch it," Sherlock replied.

Charlie entered the living room where Sherlock remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the earbuds in front of him.

"Where the hell did you get a frozen head?" Charlie asked.

"The morgue."

"Okay..." she said, "But why? What possible use could you have for a frozen head?"

"An experiment," Sherlock said bluntly, "Don't touch it."

Charlie shook her head and returned to the kitchen. She spotted a teapot peeking out from piles of papers and occasional test tube. Brushing the horrid mess to the side, Charlie picked up the teapot and discovered that it was actually sitting on the stove but you couldn't even tell due to the clutter that covered it. Charlie began picking up papers. Some were official documents and others were blank scraps of paper covered in an unreadable scrawl. Once the stove was clear of anything flammable and broken, Charlie filled the teapot with water, careful not to touch the mysterious substance that pooled in the bottom of the sink. The small blond woman turned on the stove and set the pot on the heat and began her search through the cupboards.

The cupboards were even worse than the counter. There were jars filled with strange objects and unidentifiable oozing liquids. Some were tipped over, spilling their foul smelling contents all over the inside of the cupboards. In one, it looked like one of the jars had practically exploded, leaving a jelly like goo behind.

By the smell, Charlie knew it wasn't Jelly.

Eventually, Charlie found a jar that wasn't full of unknown objects, just plain tea. She pulled it out and went about finishing up the pot of tea. While it boiled, Charlie returned to the living room, only to find Sherlock still staring at the earbuds.

"What exactly are you doing?" Charlie questioned, looking down at Sherlock.

"I was wrong," Sherlock said in a monotone voice.

"So?" Charlie said with a shrug.

"I am never wrong," Sherlock snapped.

"What's wrong with being wrong?"

Sherlock have an irritated huff.

"Oh please, you can't seriously be upset over this."

Sherlock's eyes flicked up to Charlie's face then back to the earbuds.

"It's not like you messed up, I set you up, so even if you did manage to deduce everything you'd still be wrong."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak when his phone dinged in his pocket. He pulled it out and read it. Suddenly, Sherlock's eyes lit up and he bounded to his feet, grabbing his coat and flew out the door without another word. Charlie stood alone in the loft with an eyebrow quirked in surprise.

"Kay, bye," Charlie called after Sherlock was long gone.

Charlie was beginning to see what John was talking about. She shook her head and laughed.

Looking around the flat, Charlie decided that while Sherlock was out of the way for awhile, she should start cleaning or at least attempt to make things look somewhat neat and organized. Walking back into the kitchen, the small woman rooted through the cupboards and cabinets until she found a half empty box of garbage bags. Charlie pulled one out and opened it up.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie looked around the kitchen and with a huff, said, "Here goes nothing…"

Starting with the fridge, Charlie left the frozen head and anything else labeled experiment with a number after it in it's place, all the other smelly and rotting things were removed and dumped ungracefully into the garbage bag. She then moved to the counter, putting papers in piles and throwing away trash and burned items. For several hours, Charlie spent cleaning and picking up things in the kitchen, slowly working her way to the living room. She had barely made a dent in the mess of the living room when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Woohoo! Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson reached the top of the stairs and stopped short when she saw Charlie.

"Oh! Sorry, dearie, didn't realize Sherlock had paid company over," Mrs. Hudson said, putting her hands up in an apologetic gesture, "Never knew the lad was into such things, but I guess he still is a man..."

The tips of Charlie's ears turned bright red and her face flushed. "I'm….I'm not a prostitute!" Charlie spluttered.

"Oh, don't be ashamed dear, everyone needs to make money," Mrs. Hudson said reassuringly.

"I'm not a prostitute!" Charlie insisted, "I'm his new flatmate."

"Oh! I'm so sorry, dearie, I should have known," Mrs. Hudson said with a chuckle, "I didn't realize you were moving in so soon."

"It was sort of last minute," Charlie said, picking up some more trash and shoving it into the already overflowing garbage bag. Charlie closed it up and tied it tight and then set it amongst the other bags of garbage. "John is the one who suggested it actually," Charlie continued.

"Well, good! I was worried that I'd have to evict Sherlock, poor dear, maybe you'll be good for him," Mrs. Hudson said thoughtfully.

"How so?" Charlie wondered, reaching for another garbage bag.

"Well, ever since John moved out, the lad has been moping around and as you can tell, more destructive than usual," Mrs. Hudson explained, stepping further into the flat, "Sherlock is lonely, dearie, the only friend he ever really had was John and now John's moved on."

"But John still comes around, it's not like he completely abandon Sherlock," Charlie said.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "It's different for Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson waved her hand dismissively. "Nevermind me, I'm just a rambling old lady," she said, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Charlie called after her, "Would you like some tea? I still have some left over."

"No thank you, dear," Mrs. Hudson called over her shoulder with a smile. Charlie shrugged and continued her task of cleaning and organizing the flat.

Several hours later, Charlie lay stretched out on the couch, her arms tucked up under her head. She looked around the freshly cleaned flat and mentally patted herself on the back for a job well done. The flat looked far better than when she had first arrived; true, there were some scorch marks and bullet holes in the wall that she hadn't managed to remove, but she figured it just added to the place's charms. Sort of a psychotic charm, but a charm nonetheless.

Charlie was just about to doze off when she heard Sherlock's voice coming up the stairs.

"...Lestrade wants us to meet him at the crime sc-"

His voice cut off.

"What do you mean you're busy? You're never busy."

More silence as the person probably chided him at the other end, reminding Sherlock that the world was not centered around him.

"Charlie? What about her?"

Charlie looked up when she heard Sherlock say her name.

"But John...John…" Sherlock whined, "She'll just get in the way!"

Rolling her eyes, Charlie laid back and stared at the ceiling, her hands returning to the spot behind her head. John voice became louder as it I usually did when he was frustrated.

"...ake, Charlie with you," John said, "She'll do just a good a job as I would."

"But John, she…"

"Sherlock," John said, cutting the consulting detective off, "Take her, you will be pleasantly surprised."

"Fine," Sherlock huffed. He then hung up and tossed the phone on to the couch, nearly clocking Charlie in the chin with it. The blond woman flinched and then sat up, her nose scrunched in irritation. "Hey! Watch where you throw things!"

Sherlock ignored her and plopped down into his usual chair, crossing his arms and sinking into a pout. Charlie couldn't help but chuckle at the man's extreme childish behavior.

"So what did John say?" Charlie said.

Silence.

"Alright, fine," Charlie said, starting to get up from the couch.

"John can't come with me to the crime scene," Sherlock spat, "Mary has morning sickness."

"And he wants me to go in his place..."

Sherlock was silent once again, his childish pout becoming a little ridiculous.

"If you don't want me to go then I won't," Charlie said, walking into the kitchen and dumping the remains of the tea she had made down the freshly cleaned sink. She ran hot water through it to clean out the residue before grabbing a towel and wiping it dry.

"How are you with dead bodies?"

The sudden voice right behind Charlie startled her and Charlie instinctively swung her arm around, the teapot gripped tightly in her hand. Thankfully, Sherlock ducked out of the way before the teapot accidentally bludgeoned him in the head. Charlie put a hand to her heart and took a deep breath, trying to calm its frantic tempo.

"Don't do that!" Charlie exclaimed.

"I see you don't do well with sudden noises," Sherlock noted, "but how are you with dead bodies?"

Charlie leaned back against the kitchen counter, hand stil resting over her heart and teapot still clutched in her fist. She looked at Sherlock. The man stood there calm and composed with out a hint of a pout. Charlie shook her head, she was definitely beginning to see what John was talking about.

"Well...?" Sherlock said when Charlie didn't respond.

"You know, for such a smart man," Charlie said, "You are really stupid."

Sherlock's eyes widened for a fraction of a second and his brow raised at Charlie's comment. But then, as quickly as the expression appeared, it vanished.

"Ah, I see...so you have no problems with dead bodies," Sherlock said, grinning in his usual way that made most think he knew something that they didn't, which he probably did.

"No, I have big problems with seeing dead bodies," Charlie said, shoving the teapot into Sherlock's hands. Sherlock's face fell and his eyebrows furrowed together.

"Then why did John-"

She held up a finger silencing Sherlock. "I don't like seeing dead bodies," Charlie repeated, "however, I've seen enough in my lifetime that it doesn't bother me anymore."

Charlie disappeared into her room and then reappeared wearing a bright red long double breasted peacoat with small, polished black buttons and a thick red belt that wrapped around her waist. "So to answer your question...I'd love to see a dead body."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up into a faint smile. He tossed the teapot into the sink and grabbed his coat. He slid into it and flipped up his lapel and said, "Come Charlie, the game is-"

"-on," Charlie finished, rolling her eyes, "John told me you like to say that a lot."

Sherlock gave and irritated huff and swept from the loft, Charlie chuckling in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: OH. MY. WORD. IT'S FINISHED. THE CHAPTER IS FINALLY FINISHED. I got about one fourth of the way finished and my life exploded: double shifts at work and many many many exams and tests at school. For those of you who stuck around, I apologize and offer you a metaphorical cookie. This chapter is probably twice as long as the others, but it really couldn't be helped, there were so many bits and pieces I wanted to get out there. If you enjoy the longer chapters let me know! I'll try to get the next chapter up sooner, but until then, enjoy chapter three!**

The taxi ride to the crime scene was excruciating. Charlie tried numerous times to start up a conversation with Sherlock but the man either gave her an abrupt answer and then fell back into silence or ignored her completely. When the taxi finally stopped, Charlie practically tripped over herself to get out of the vehicle.

Of course, moving so hastily resulted in Charlie almost taking a painful nosedive into the cement. Her forward motion was halted when someone grabbed the belt of her peacoat. She looked back and saw Sherlock leaning out of the taxi, one hand holding her belt and an eyebrow raised in amusement. Charlie regained her balance and swatted Sherlock's hand away. The consulting detective stepped out of the taxi and straightened his coat. "Your welcome," the man said. He then strode off towards the flurry of officers, detectives, and bright yellow police tape. Charlie huffed and followed him.

"Have they told you what's going in yet?" Charlie questioned, catching up with Sherlock.

"Someone has been murdered," Sherlock stated, his hands deep in his pockets.

"No duh, that's why they call you," Charlie said rolling her eyes, "I meant have they given you anymore details?"

"You'll figure them out."

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?" Charlie huffed.

"Well," Sherlock began, "if you're as smart as you come across and as John says you are then you should have no problem figuring it out."

"You're unbelievable," Charlie sighed, rubbing her eyelid with her middle finger.

The consulting detective and the small blond woman ducked under the bright yellow police tape and headed towards the cluster of police men and woman. One, a woman with a dark complexion and wild curly brown hair, spotted Sherlock and turned to the officer next to her. "Tell Lestrade that Freak's here, yeah?" Donovan muttered. The officer nodded and walked off to find Inspector Lestrade. Donovan broke off from the group and greeted Sherlock.

"Hello, freak," Donovan said.

"Where's Lestrade?" Sherlock stated.

"Inside, he said you'd like this one," Donovan replied. She stopped when she saw a shock of blond white hair peek out from behind Sherlock. Donovan nodded towards Charlie and asked, "Who is she?"

Sherlock stepped to the side slightly, revealing the small woman who had been completely hidden behind Sherlock's looming form.

"She is my temporary assistant as John is busy with other matters," Sherlock said. When Sherlock walked away without introducing Charlie, she rolled her eyes and introduced herself.

"Charlie Abernale," Charlie said, sticking out a hand to Donovan.

"Nice to meet you," Donovan replied, shaking Charlie's hand, "How's it you know freak?"

"Who?"

"Tall, smart, and irritating," Donovan clarified, jerking her head towards Sherlock.

"Oh! I know John, we were good friends in the war," Charlie explained, "He's the one who suggested the flat share with Sherlock, actually."

"_You're _living with the freak now?" Donovan said.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, it was last minute and John said Sherlock was in desperate need for someone to go halves on the rent. Plus I didn't have anywhere to live getting off the plane, so it worked out pretty well," Charlie said with a smile.

"Charlie!" Sherlock called from the doorway of the building cordoned off with police tape, "Come!"

Charlie's eyebrows furrowed with a mild anger mixed with irritation.

"I am not some fucking dog who will simply come when you call!" Charlie snapped at the tall detective, planting her hands on her hips. Sherlock's eyebrows shot up his forehead and Donovan snickered into her hand, earning a glare from the detective. He turned on his heel and strode into the building.

"I better see what he wants," Charlie said with an exasperated sigh.

Charlie turned to leave but Donovan halted her exit with a hand to the shoulder. The blond woman looked back and saw Donovan's smile was replaced with a dead serious expression.

"What?" Charlie asked.

A few minutes later, Charlie climbed the steps to the building and found Sherlock standing in the entryway just out of view. He looked like he had been waiting.

"What did Donovan tell you?"

Apparently he had been eavesdropping, too.

Charlie stopped in front of Sherlock, her hands in her coat pockets, and looked up at him. "She said I should careful around you...she said that your psychotic and is pretty convinced that someday solving murder's won't be enough," Charlie said, casting her eyes to the floor, "she said you're dangerous."

"I see..." Sherlock said slowly, "and what did you tell her?"

"You know, eavesdropping is really rude," Charlie said.

"What did you say?" Sherlock persisted.

Charlie looked up at Sherlock, smiling pleasantly and answered, "I told her she shouldn't worry...'cause I'm dangerous, too."

The small blond woman winked and then continued further into the building. Sherlock looked out the door and saw Donovan leaned up against one of the squad cars, mouth pressed into her fist and a concerned expression across her face. The consulting detective smirked and then turned, following Charlie towards the crime scene.

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

The voice came from the room Charlie had just disappeared into. Sherlock strode into the room and saw Charlie standing just inside the door, Anderson blocking her way.

"She's with me," Sherlock voiced as he entered the room.

"Why? She's not a cop," Anderson spat.

"I'm a temporary replacement for John," Charlie explained, "he couldn't make it today."

"Oh yeah?" Anderson said, "and why couldn't he?"

"Mary had morning sickness," Sherlock stated, brushing past Anderson and into the room. He stopped and looked around the room.

It was a fairly large sized apartment. Spacious with large open windows, the living room descended two steps down and opened to a high ceiling. A lamp on a nearby table was knocked on the floor and shattered into small fragments. Forensics investigators littered the apartment, some gathering evidence and others dusted for fingerprints. Lestrade stood in the middle of the room discussing something with another officer.

Charlie stopped next to Sherlock and scrunched her nose in confusion. "Where's the body?" Charlie asked quietly.

"The ceiling," Sherlock replied looking up.

"Pardon?" Charlie said, raising an eyebrow.

Charlie stepped forward and looked up to the ceiling. Instead of the bare ceiling with occasional light or ceiling fan found in most homes and apartments, a body hung from the ceiling. It was a rather gruesome sight. The man's mouth hung agape in a in a permanent silent scream and his eyes were frozen open, leaving a shocked expression forever on his face. His skin was pale and nearing translucent except for the bright red blood that stained his skin. Pinning him to the ceiling were what seemed to be small barbed fishing spears, one in each of his hands and feet, one straight through his middle and a final through his throat.

"Holy shit!" Charlie exclaimed, stepping further into the room to get a better look, "that's a new one."

Lestrade looked up at Charlie's outburst. "Hey!" Lestrade called, marching up to Charlie, "No civilians in here, this is a crime scene! How did you get in?"

"She's my assistant," Sherlock stated, stepping forward as well to take a better look at the body.

"Assistant? Got an upgrade, hm?" Lestrade said, smirking and eyeing Charlie, "I have to say I approve."

"Put your dick back in your pants," Charlie said bluntly, rolling her eyes and brushing last Lestrade.

Charlie looked up at the dead body hanging from the ceiling and scrunched her nose. The body looked like it had been hanging there for a few days. The skin was grotesque and seemed to be taking on a disturbing blackish blue color and the areas around the punctures were brown and showing early signs of decay.

Suddenly, Charlie noticed something budging in the dead mans neck. It was barely noticeable but definitely there and definitely not part of the body. It seemed like the man had tried to swallow it before his death but the spike got in the way. Charlie was about to point it out when Sherlock stepped forward and said, "There is something in his hand."

"There's also-" Charlie began, but she was cut off when Lestrade barked out, "let's get that body down and ready to be transported to the morgue."

Charlie huffed and sat in the background as a flurry of police men and women and forensics investigators worked carefully and slowly to remove the body from the ceiling. They removed the spikes from the body and soon the corpse was on the ground, half tucked away into a black body bag. Charlie watched as Sherlock bent over and picked a small crumpled up object with a pair of tweezers he had taken from a nearby forensics investigator. He handed it to Lestrade who uncrumpled it with gloved hands.

"It's a suicide letter," Lestrade said, reading the sloppy handwriting.

"It's not suicide," Sherlock and charlie said almost simultaneously.

They looked at each other for a moment, each with a raised eyebrow before Sherlock turned back to Lestrade and launched into a fast paced explanation of how and why it was murder and not suicide.

Charlie looked around and spotted a forensics investigator standing nearby. His attention was turned to Sherlock as he pointed out clues and all the things that everyone else had missed. It was almost too easy for Charlie to slip one of the scalpels and a surgical glove out of the forensics case that lay open on the table and slip it into her pocket. She waited until Sherlock strode to another side of the room, his mouth and mind still running a hundred miles a minute, before crouching over the body.

With medical like precision, Charlie lowered the scalpel until it came in contact with the slight bulge in the corpses neck. Then, making sure no one was paying attention, she cut into the skin. A faint smell wafted past Charlie's nose as she widened the incision enough to reach in with a gloved hand and pull out whatever was inside. She couldn't reach it and cut deeper until she had cut straight down through into the esophagus. Charlie reached in again and felt a small hard object and pulled it out.

It was a small clear vial with a cap on it.

Charlie noticed something inside and unscrewed the cap and pulled out the folded up slip of paper with her clean hand. Just as Sherlock finished up his detailed and jaw dropping explanation, Charlie unfolded the paper and read was written on it.

"Um," Charlie said, gathering the attention of everyone in the room, "I think I have a much quicker and less ego fulfilling reason for why it was murder."

"Oh really?" Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing.

"Yep," Charlie held up the small piece of paper she had found and held it so Sherlock and everyone else could see it. On the paper in a different handwriting than the suicide letter was the word _'murder'_. Charlie continued, "Our victim here was kind enough to clarify his death for us."

"You cut open the body?!" Lestrade practically shrieked.

"It was a small incision," Charlie said absent mindedly before brushing the inspector off to the side and continuing her train of thought, "It seems that he knew he was going to die and he must have realized that when the police found his body that they would do an autopsy and decided to leave a message for them to find. He probably planned to just swallow it and have them discover it in his stomach; however, he probably didn't realize that his killer was suspicious and barely had the note swallowed with the murderer shot him straight through the neck. The killer probably thought he had destroyed the little note and didn't bother to check or try to remove it."

"He wasn't shot through the neck," Sherlock pointed out, "There's no gun residue and a gunshot from that range would have torn his throat apart."

"Not if it was a small enough caliber," Charlie rebutted, "the killer obviously knew to clean up after himself, but I bet in the autopsy there will be traces of it in the wound."

Charlie rounded the body handed the note to a forensics investigator to put in an evidence bag.

"You are right about a gunshot from that range tearing his neck apart," Charlie commented, "while it didn't completely destroy the throat area, it did tear it up a little bit. Compared to the other stab wounds, the one in the neck is a fraction bigger. And I bet if you look along the walls or somewhere in this room, there should be a bullet; unless, of course, the killer had a sudden burst of brilliance and figured he should probably clean up after himself."

"Ah, Charlie…" A voice said from the doorway, "...just as smart and clever as ever."

Charlie and Sherlock groaned before turning to see Mycroft standing just inside the door, Anderson standing behind him unhappily.

Sherlock opened his mouth to tell his brother to leave but Charlie beat him to it.

"Hello, Mycroft," Charlie sneered with distaste, "I see you still think I wasn't serious when I said that if I ever saw your face again I'd punch that irritating look right off of it."

"You know each other?" Sherlock said with a raised eyebrow and a slightly slack jaw.

"Unfortunately," Charlie huffed.

"Now, now, Charlie, don't be so unpleasant," Mycroft tutted, "You know the power I hold over you."

"Really? You're pulling the power card? Do you remember what happened last time you pulled that shit?" Charlie said with a scowl.

Mycroft's hand covered his stomach and he grimaced, "Urg, unfortunately."

"What happened last time?" Sherlock asked, slowly getting more and more irritated that he was being ignored.

"I'll tell you later," Charlie said quickly, resulting in Sherlock donning one of his famous pouts and receding into silence with an unhappy 'hmph!'

Charlie turned her attention back to Mycroft and questioned, "Why are you here?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

The small blond woman looked at the dead corpse the investigators were tucking away into a large black body bag. She took in the details from the corpse and around the room before audibly groaning. Rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand, Charlie said, "This is a political situation, isn't it?"

"Quite," Mycroft replied with a nod, "That man was the tipping vote that would pass through a important but controversial regulation."

"What regulation?" Charlie asked.

"That is private information which you do not have access to," Mycroft sniffed.

"I _outrank you_...now spill."

"Oh _please_, you're retired, that claim is no longer valid-"

"_Bullshit!_...I may be sleeper status but that does not discredit my rank!" Charlie snapped, her eyes narrowing to steely daggers.

Mycroft to ramrod straight, eithar chewing on his tongue or grinding his teeth. Finally, he broke and replied, gesturing to everyone in the room, "Fine, but _they_ don't have proper access, we speak in private."

Charlie began to proceed up the two steps towards Mycroft. She didn't realize that Sherlock was following close behind her until she heard the floorboards creak. Mycroft's eyes snapped to his brother and then narrowed. "_No_, Sherlock," Mycroft said, "This is too high above you."

"Tch, this is-"

"_Sherlock."_

Sherlock looked to Charlie when she spoke his name and felt his body betray him as Charlie intense gaze sent a small sliver of fear running up and down his spine and mocking his brain. Charlie said nothing else as Sherlock stepped back without another word.

"Good," Mycroft said with a sharp nod, "Now let's get on with thi-"

Before Mycroft could finish, there was a loud crack as Charlie swung around and punched the man so hard in the face that it sent him toppling backwards in shock. The man landed with a thud and then looked up at Charlie with pure surprise painted across his entire pale, and now slightly bloody, face. "What was that for?!" Mycroft choked out, tenderly touching the place where Charlie had hit him.

The small woman looked down at the british man and smirked. "I told you I was going to punch that irritating look of your face the next time I saw you," Charlie said with fake and dramatic sigh, "You never were one to take me for my word."

Charlie grinned and heard a small giggle escape from Sherlock's lips before it was quickly stifled. She rolled her eyes and turned back to look at Sherlock. "Go home, Sherlock," Charlie said, "I'll be back in a few hours. Ask Mrs. Hudson to put on some coffee? Preferably strong and black."

Charlie strode out of the apartment, Mycroft gathering himself and following after.

* * *

><p>A short cab ride later, Sherlock lay on the old green couch in the living room of 221B Baker street, his fingers steepled before his lips. Across the room sitting in his usual spot was John, an irritated expression gracing his face which Sherlock found familiar and refreshing.<p>

"Sherlock, are you going to tell me why you needed me to come here so urgently?" John said, "Or are you just going to keep lying there silently? If so, I'm going back home to Mary."

In a flash, Sherlock was on his feet, pacing back and forth, his face animated and his brain buzzing.

"John," Sherlock started, "By setting up me and Charlie as flatmates, I believe that you have presented me with an entirely new and complicated case on a silver platter."

"Yeah, that's kind of why I suggested it," John said with a sigh.

"But this is so much more!"

"Oh really?" John asked, "How so?"

"Today Mycroft showed up at the crime scene, much to my annoyance, and before my brother could strut around like the irritating peacock he is, Charlie comes up and they begin talking like they know each other-"

"Well, it makes sense, Sherlock, she's high up in the military and he practically runs the government, their paths undoubtedly crossed at some point," John said, resting his chin in his hand.

"But that's just it, she isn't just on some military ranking where their paths crossed, she _outranks him_," Sherlock emphasized, "Somehow she has gained more authority than my brother, she completely shut him down and left him speechless. And then there's her entire background, I looked it up and it's like Charlie Abernale_ does not exist_. I even hacked into my brother's systems and there is nothing there."

John watched as his friends pacing grew quicker and with longer strides. He could practically see the gears turning in his head.

"No birth certificates, no medical records, no recent residence, not even her involvement in any military. And then there's the fact that she proved me wrong _and _found something that I missed," Sherlock continued, "I _never_ miss anything, John, _never_. How is it that some tool of war…."

"Um, Sherlock?" John said.

"...some pawn with no history…"

"Sherlock…" John repeated.

"...no background…"

"Sherlock." John said louder.

"...and an inexplicably large source of authority outsmart _me?_"

"_Sherlock!" _John exclaimed.

"What _is_ it John?" Sherlock replied with irritation.

John said nothing, he just point to the door.

Sherlock turned around and saw Charlie standing in the doorway with a straight face and a raised eyebrow.

"Hello, Charlie, we were just talking about you," John said awkwardly.

"So I heard," Charlie said.

There was an intense and awkward silence as Charlie entered the flat and removed her peacoat, draping it over the arm of the couch. Both boys watched her, waiting and wondering what she would do next. She left the living room and entered the kitchen, calling out, "Tea, boys?"

Sherlock and John visibly relaxed and the detective replied, "Yes," before turning to John with a look on his face that read 'what-am-I supposed-to-do-now?'

Taking that as his cue, John jumped up and quickly strode to the door, calling over his shoulder as he left, "Good luck, Sherlock!"

"Wait, John!"

But it was too late, John was gone and Sherlock was left alone in the flat with Charlie, a potential assassin with an authority that overpowered most governments.

"Did John leave?" Charlie called from the kitchen.

"Yes?" Sherlock said uncertainly.

The tall detective closed the flat's door and retreated to his chair where he sat with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair and his fingers steepled under his chin, watching the kitchen door, glimpses of Charlie's blond white hair flitting in and out of view as she moved about. A few minutes later she emerged from the kitchen with two mugs full of tea in her hands. She handed one to Sherlock and then curled up in John's old chair, taking a sip out of her mug.

Sherlock began to open his mouth but was cut off when Charlie spoke.

"I can't tell you everything, that would be too dangerous," Charlie started slowly, "All I can tell you is that I have done many things, some of them quite horrible but necessary. I've told John this and now I'm telling you."

"Why tell me now when you've only just met me?" Sherlock questioned.

"I'm hoping to prevent you from opening Pandora's box," Charlie said.

"What if I open it anyways?" Sherlock challenged.

"_You won't_" Charlie said darkly, giving Sherlock the same steely gaze that sent a sliver of fear down his spine earlier.

Sherlock looked back at Charlie, taking in her small frame, long blond hair, and lack of scars that were apparently there. It was almost impossible for Sherlock to picture such a woman in battle or doing the horrible things she talked about; yet, when she gave him that glare, he could see it perfectly. All the horrors she'd seen, all the things she remembered doing.

"Alright," Sherlock eventually said with a nod.

Immediately, Charlie's face lightened and the entire atmosphere in the room shifted into a brighter tone. Charlie rose from the chair and cheerly commented, "So what did you think of the body?"

Sherlock blinked at Charlie's sudden shift but then replied, "A unusual one...what did my brother say?"

Charlie groaned and rolled her eyes. She picked up her mug and took a swig from it, saying, "You're brother is an idiot."

"Pardon?"

"That _'top secret controversial regulation'_, was about duck hunting in public parks," Charlie said, using her fingers to put air quotes around 'top secret controversial regulation', "the man who was murdered was a political figures with an animal rights background and was going to make sure that the regulation banning the hunting of ducks or other wild fowl in public parks was passed."

"What?"

"I know ridiculous, right?" Charlie said.

"So the murderer is not likely to be a political enemy or extremist," Sherlock stated, rising to his feet.

"My guess would be he was involved in some sort of affair that his wife found out about," Charlie suggested, "There was bright pink lipstick on the lapel of his shirt."

"I saw that," Sherlock nodded, "I noticed several other factors indicating to a spouse and the lipstick was too bright for a more mature mother-type wife figure. The pictures of children around the apartment suggested-"

"Yeah, great," Charlie said, cutting Sherlock off with a yawn, "Listen, I'd be glad to hear your theories tomorrow, but right now I'm majorly jetlagged and am yearning for some sleep." Charlie then turned and began to head towards her bedroom.

"Charlie, wait," Sherlock called.

Charlie stopped and looked back.

"Can I ask something...about your past?"

"What is it?" the small blond woman questioned.

"What did you do last time to Mycroft?"

Charlie's grin widened until it mimicked a cat. The twinkle in her sparkle and she replied, "It was when we first met, he tried to pull the power card on me…..so I put a whole box of laxatives in his pot of tea before he was supposed to go to a meeting. I've never seen that man run so fast in his life."

Sherlock grinned.

"You punched my brother and spiked his tea with laxatives…" Sherlock said, "...I think I'm beginning to like you."

"Good," Charlie said, "because you're stuck with me until further notice."

With a final grin, Charlie disappeared into her room with a flourish of white blond hair.


End file.
